


All Your Old Places

by scioscribe



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Body Modification, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 18:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: She buys a tight bio-mesh cunt the next time they’re on Xandar.Non-lubricating, she reads on the packaging.Clitoris included.





	All Your Old Places

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "100 words of cocunts."

Their bodies are sleek, controlled machinery. Thanos isn’t going to let them have wet messy gaps in themselves; fulfillment and pleasure are both off-limits, and awareness of their own emptiness is frowned upon. He caulks his daughters with batteries and circuitry and steel.  
  
Gamora has a distant memory of what her body used to look like, before Thanos made her seamless and smooth.  
  
It isn’t until after Ronan, though, that she has the luxury of thinking about it. She watches some of Peter’s pornography, fascinated by the way the women lick into each other’s bodies, the way their clits darken as their arousal mounts, the way they are wrinkled and folded and hairy rather than streamlined.  
  
She buys a tight bio-mesh cunt the next time they’re on Xandar. _Non-lubricating_, she reads on the packaging. _Clitoris included_. There are ads for the same company’s bio-mesh cock and cloaca.  
  
Late that night, she attaches it to the inside of her thigh, letting the gooey gel adhesive bind to her skin, nanites tapping into her nerve endings. The instructions say that if she brings her legs together, the cunt can connect to both thighs. It’ll be like her body is splitting in two as usual, just lower down, below her actual pubic mound. But Gamora feels stupid enough already without making this an even worse imitation.  
  
The adhesive cools and dries.  
  
Gamora strokes the dense mesh, feeling the shallow labia part under her fingertip and expose the tight bud of clit, a knot of over-sensitized nerve endings that make her muscles twitch helplessly. She forces her finger into the cunt, ignoring the wrench of pain the prosthetic hits her with. The cunt is dry, as advertised, but Gamora pushes a second finger into it despite that. The burn is horrible and displaced—her body confused as to where it’s coming from—and at last she takes her fingers out and sucks on them. The taste on them is rubbery. She returns to the clit with a wet hand, wringing softer and more unusual sensations out of herself. She feels an escalation towards something. She stops.  
  
She’s seen people tip over into climax. She’s not sure she wants to. She doesn’t trust abandoning herself to any one feeling, even now that things are safer.  
  
But she keeps the cunt, hidden away where even Rocket—who regularly rummages through their rooms in search of nothing in particular—cannot find it. It isn’t until they pick up Nebula that anyone but her ever touches it.  
  
Nebula hates her a little less this month, so she’s partnered with them to ferret out a crew of pirates hitting supply runs in this sector. She has her own room on the _Milano_, one she leaves filthy, full of fruit pits and discarded bandages and grease. Gamora doesn’t know if Nebula leaves her quarters a rat’s nest to test her ownership of them or to express her lack of attachment to them. Whatever her motive, the result is that she sleeps in Gamora’s room more often than she does her own. Gamora is used to waking up to find Nebula curled against her back, horribly hot and restless with bad dreams.  
  
That snooping comes with all that is not, she supposes, new. They invaded each other’s lives enough back with Thanos. But still, there’s a kick of surprise when she comes in one night and finds Nebula standing still and holding the cunt in one hand.  
  
Gamora closes the door. “How did you find it?”  
  
“I remember all of your old hiding places,” Nebula says. She parts the cunt’s lips with her fingers, looking down into it at the clit. The expression on her face is unreadable. “I can smell your saliva here. It stinks of you.”  
  
“I’ve washed it.”  
  
“Not well enough.” She pulls at it, seeing how far the mesh will stretch.  
  
Gamora says, “Do you want to try it?” She doesn’t know what makes her offer.  
  
“Even when we have the same mutilation, you get the better fix,” Nebula says.  
  
Gamora exhales. “Is that a yes or a no?”  
  
Nebula looks at her, gaze marble-black, and says, “How do I put it on?”  
  
Gamora shows her. She attaches it on the inside of one of Nebula’s thighs, where she always puts it for herself, but she tells her as she does it that the device will stretch if she wants it to. Fixed like it is now, the penetration can only be shallow and crooked, two knuckles’ depth at most. Nebula nods, tilting her head like she’s assessing the angle.  
  
“When it stops tingling, it means the nanites are done creating the temporary bind with your nerve endings,” Gamora says. “Then you can touch it and you’ll feel the sensations.”  
  
Nebula traces one finger around the entrance to the cunt, watching as the synthetic flesh gives slightly under the pressure. “It’s strange.”  
  
“I know.” She takes Nebula’s hand—amazed that Nebula is letting herself be steered like this—and moves her fingers to the clitoris. “This feels better. Just twitch your fingers against it.”  
  
Nebula does, and Gamora watches her the whole time. She knows what Nebula is feeling—that build of kindling-sharp dry pleasure, the irritated rub that it’s so hard to relinquish—and she can trace each movement of it through Nebula’s expressions, through the various slackening and tensing of muscles. Nebula clenches her jaw. There’s a low, wet sound as her teeth grind together. She hisses.  
  
Gamora waits for her to understand that she needs to slick up her fingers, but Nebula never gets there—she’s too used to pain for it to seem like something she needs to fix. Pain, for Nebula, is the price of everything.  
  
Gamora’s face feels hot. Her inclinations here are messy and as unnatural as their bodies.  
  
She says, “Here,” and lowers her head, gently butting Nebula’s hand out of the way. She licks along the shallow seam of their cunt, wincing at the stale rubbery taste. There’s something here—the mesh is hot from the friction of Nebula’s fingers, mildly scented with the sweat off her hand. Gamora licks and licks, sucking against the clitoris until it’s soaked. All she can taste now is her own mouth. Her mouth on Nebula’s cunt, their cunt.  
  
Nebula moans, digging her fingers into Gamora’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.  
  
Something inside Gamora pulses. She sinks her own fingernails into Nebula’s thighs; she wants to leave a graceless incision that won’t just peel away in the end, leaving nothing behind.


End file.
